The Ambassador's Mission

He looked at Tyvara in surprise. She had barely said a word to him since they’d joined Savara’s group.

“Of course, we’ve made it much bigger,” she continued. “A lot of the old part collapsed and had to be replaced sixty years after the first Traitors settled here.”

“How deep does it go?”

“Mostly it’s only one or two rooms deep. Think of it as a city half the size of Arvice, but more elongated, and tipped on its side. We have tremors here now and then, and parts collapse. Though we’ve got a lot better at judging if the rock is safe before making new rooms, then strengthening them with magic, people feel more comfortable living close to the outside.”

“I can understand how they’d come to feel that way.”

He could see, now, that part of the base of the wall was broken by sturdy archways, through which people were entering and leaving the city. Elsewhere there were smaller, more widely spaced openings. The arches suggested a formal, public entrance, and he was not surprised when Savara headed for them.

But not long after, she was forced to stop. A crowd had begun to gather. Many of the people were staring at him. Some were clearly curious, but others looked suspicious. Some were glaring in anger, but not just at him. Their attention was also on Tyvara.

“Murderer!” someone called out, followed by sounds of agreement here and there. But a few people frowned at the accusation, and some even voiced a protest.

“Move out of the way,” Savara ordered, her tone firm but not angry.

The people blocking the path obeyed. Lorkin read respect in their faces when they looked at Savara. She is definitely a Traitor to get on the good side of, he thought, as the group followed their leader to the arches and into the city.

A wide but shallow hall supported by several rows of columns spread before them.

“Speaker Savara,” a voice called. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned safely.”

The voice belonged to a short, round woman, who was walking toward them from the back of the hall. Her words had been spoken in a lofty tone. Savara slowed to meet her.

“Speaker Kalia,” Savara replied. “Have the Table assembled?”

“All but you and I.”

Lorkin felt something nudge his arm. He looked down at Tyvara. She mouthed something, but he could not make it out, so she leaned closer.

“Other faction,” she whispered. “Leader.”

He nodded to show he understood, then gave the woman a closer look. So this is the one who ordered me killed. She was older than Savara, possibly older than his mother, if the roundness of her face was smoothing out the lines a woman her age might normally have. The sharpness of her eyes and the set of her mouth contradicted her soft demeanour. They gave her a mean expression, he decided. But maybe his perception was skewed by the knowledge she’d wanted him dead. Maybe other people found her appealing and motherly.

Kalia’s gaze swept over the other members of Savara’s group and her nose twitched. Lorkin realised that the slave garb he and some of the others wore now looked out of place. Like the costume it is. Savara turned to two of her companions.

“Take Tyvara to her room and guard the doors.”

They nodded, and as they looked to Tyvara she stepped forward to join them. Without glancing at him or saying a word, she strode away. Savara looked at another of her people.

“Find Evana and Nayshia and have them replace Ishiya and Ralana as soon as possible.” She looked at the last two women. “Go. Get some rest and proper food.”

As the women left, Savara turned to Lorkin. “I hope you’re ready to answer a lot of questions.”

He smiled. “I am.”

But as she and Kalia fell into step either side of him, leading him out of the hall and into a wide corridor, he realised he did not feel ready. He knew that there was a queen here, but it was suddenly clear that Tyvara and Chari had neglected to tell him how power was divided below the level of royalty. He knew the women flanking him were Speakers, but he had no idea exactly how they fitted into the hierarchy, and he was feeling a fool for not asking.

Savara asked if a Table had been assembled. I’m guessing they don’t mean furniture. They’re both part of it, so I assume it’s some sort of group like the Higher Magicians. With someone directing the formalities and ceremonies, as Administrator Osen does at Guild meets.

Light in the corridor was subdued, but bright enough to illuminate the way. There was colour to it – colour that shifted and changed. He looked around, seeking the source, and realised that it came from bright points of light embedded into the roof.